The strapping on his shoulder wasn’t tight, William flexed his arm for her and opened and closed his fingers. She followed the movement. With a jolt, William saw bright colour flood her cheeks as she observed the play of the muscles in his biceps. He repeated the movement, conscious of a pleasant tightening in his belly as she jerked her gaze away.

      Keeping his face straight, for this prim lady-in-waiting amused him, he cleared his throat. ‘I do feel a little weak yet, I shall have to follow an exercise regime to build up my muscles.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ Her voice was faint. Crimson-cheeked, she stared fixedly at a brazier at the other end of the room. ‘Strengthening exercises.’

      To draw her gaze, he touched her sleeve and instantly her eyes locked with his—the contact had startled her. I may not touch her, I am yet a slave in her mind. Carefully, William removed his fingers from her sleeve, but the urge to tease remained.

      ‘My lady, I have …’ he ran his hand over his cheeks and grimaced ‘… a favour to ask.’ With effort, he kept his face straight, fully aware that what he was about to ask bordered on insolence. She was so prim, though, he simply could not help himself.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘I need to shave. I must look like a wild man.’

      Her eyes widened, she examined him closely and, Lord, now it was he whose cheeks were burning. Not that she would be able to see, his beard would hide it. Thankfully.

      ‘You want to shave?’

      ‘If you do not …’ William groped for the right word ‘… trust me with a knife you could shave me.’

      She drew her head back, the movement expressed outrage.

      William waited. Laughter was a breath away, he could see, he could actually see her struggle to decide whether to chastise him for being deliberately insolent or whether to let it pass because he might really want to shave. In her eyes his motives would likely be mysterious, he was a Frank, a barbarian from beyond the boundaries of the Empire.

      It was when she nibbled her bottom lip, that full bottom lip, and William could not take his eyes off it, that he realised that somehow the boot had got on to the wrong foot. Suddenly, most inappropriately, he was aching to feel those gentle fingers on his cheeks, he wanted them caressing him under the guise of rubbing soap into his skin.

      In a heartbeat, the idea of being shaved by Lady Anna had transformed. It was no longer a suggestion designed to wring an interesting reaction from her, it was a suggestion that had sent the hot blood rushing to his loins. Lord. Shifting on his pallet, William watched and waited to see whether she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.

      She swallowed. ‘It is customary for Frankish men to shave off their beards?’

      For a second time, William was forced to clear his throat. ‘It is customary. I feel unkempt.’

      ‘How long have you been in our Empire, William?’

      ‘Not long.’ In truth, William could not give her a full answer. What with the drugs the slavers had given him and the subsequent beatings, he had no clear idea how long it had been since he had been taken from Apulia.

      ‘Here in our Empire, men …’ careful emphasis was placed on the last word, those tantalising lips pursed ‘… wear beards. You will look like a eunuch.’

      ‘A eunuch!’ God have mercy! William had forgotten that here in the Imperial Palace eunuchs were commonplace. They were chosen for high office because it was thought that men who were unable to found a dynasty were more likely to be loyal. ‘Do I look like a eunuch?’

      And then he saw it. A tiny smile trembled at the corners of her mouth. Little witch! She had realised he was teasing her and was repaying him in kind.

      Repressing an impulse to take her hand, William ran his fingers round several days of stubble. ‘My lady, local customs notwithstanding, I feel unkempt.’

      Nodding, she gestured for one of the girls. ‘Juliana?’

      ‘My lady?’

      ‘We require a bowl of hot water, some soap and a razor.’

      The maidservant gave William a dark glance. ‘A razor, my lady? Are you certain?’

      ‘Please.’

      Curtsying, Juliana went to find water.

      William rubbed his chin. ‘Thank you, my lady. I feel like a brigand with a beard.’ He lay back and fixed her with a look. ‘Mind that when it is done, there are to be no remarks about eunuchs.’

      A carefully plucked brow arched. ‘You are not yet free—you are in no position to make such pronouncements.’

      The Frank is exhausted, Anna thought, when he made no response to her comment. Instead, he closed his eyes and seemed to drop straight into sleep. And no wonder. When did he last have a proper night’s rest?

      ‘Here is the water, my lady,’ Juliana said, setting a large ewer down on a wall table. She had several linen cloths over her arm. ‘Will you wake him?’

      A light snore reached her. How strange. I know that his request for me to shave him was made largely to goad me into some reaction, but I feel a distinct pang that I am unable to do so. How ridiculous! Surely I am not looking for an excuse to touch him? How unladylike. And how inappropriate, this man is a slave, a Frankish slave.

       And yet, here I am, sitting at his side, unable to stop studying that strong, bristled jaw. Wondering what it might be like to touch